friends had delivered him from the enchantment.
"They eat nothing but the points of needles, you know," says Robert.
"Who?" I ask.
"Goblins," Robert answers.
This revelation leaves me dumb with astonishment and awe. … But Robert suddenly cries out:—
"There is a Harper!—he is coming to the house!"
And down the hill we run to hear the harper. … But what a harper! Not like the hoary minstrels of the picture-books. A swarthy, sturdy, unkempt vagabond, with black bold eyes under scowling black brows. More like a bricklayer than a bard,—and his garments are corduroy!
"Wonder if he is going to sing in Welsh?" murmurs Robert.
I feel too much disappointed to make any remarks. The harper poses his harp—a huge instrument—upon our doorstep, sets all the strings ringing with a sweep of his grimy fingers, clears his throat with a sort of angry growl, and begins,—
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day …
